


rare is this love (keep it covered)

by Catja



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Infidelity, Dark Bellamy Blake, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, First Dates, Grooming, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2019, Masturbation, Open Relationships, Pseudo-Incest, Underage Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-28 01:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20769893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catja/pseuds/Catja
Summary: Clarke’s mom spent the summer in rehab, and her stepdad is too busy at work to take care of them both, so Clarke gets to live with Marcus’ half-brother while she finishes high school.She learns a lot more than she expected.





	1. Voyeurism (Clarke + Becho, Clarke POV)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of connected Becholarke (including Becho, Clecho, and Bellarke) drabbles. Kinks, pairings, and POVs are in the chapter titles. I'm hoping to update daily, but as always, I make no promises. 
> 
> In case I forget to put it into the story, Clarke is almost 17, Bellamy is 32, Echo is 37, and they live somewhere the age of consent is 16. 
> 
> Title from Hozier. Unbetaed, minimally edited. Don't like, don't read.

Clarke doesn’t mean to start watching Aunt Echo and Uncle Bellamy having sex, but she spends the rest of her time watching them, so she’d guess it makes sense.

There were a lot of changes for everyone when Clarke had to move in with her stepdad’s brother and his wife. They weren’t used to having anyone else around, especially the step-half-niece(-in-law, for Echo) they’ve barely seen since Clarke was the flower girl in their wedding a decade ago, right before they moved back to Echo’s hometown halfway across the country. They’re doing pretty well for themselves. Uncle Bellamy’s a teacher at the ritzy private school Clarke’s going to be attending, starting next week, and, well, Clarke really isn’t sure what Aunt Echo does, something for the government she’s pretty sure. She travels a lot, has an amazing wardrobe, and drives a really nice car. Their house isn’t particularly large, though, just a cute two-story cottage on a huge lot on the edge of town, three bedrooms and two baths with a big finished basement full of workout equipment and books. 

Aunt Echo could never have kids, so when Mom went to rehab and there wasn’t really anyone to take care of Clarke, they stepped in. And Clarke’s grateful, of course, and on her best behavior, but it’s hard to think of them as family when she’s only seen them every other Christmas and that one family vacation for Aunt Octavia’s destination wedding three years ago. 

They’re not super affection toward each other, nothing like how Uncle Bellamy is toward Aunt Octavia, which just makes every scrap of warmth Clarke witnesses more fascinating to watch. They don’t really kiss in front of Clarke, not that that’s too surprising, but every day or so Bellamy will lean in and rest his forehead against his wife’s. It’s shockingly intimate, compared to their typical reserve, the way their eyes fall shut, the way they breathe each other in. 

At night, sometimes, when they’re all hanging out in front of the tv, watching the courtroom dramas or procedurals Echo likes to nitpick, Uncle Bellamy will play with the ends of Aunt Echo’s hair. Sometimes she’ll nudge him with her foot to get his attention, stretching out an endlessly long leg toward him. Clarke wonders if they’re always like this, or if they’re just holding back because she’s there. She hopes not. She’s already messing their life up enough.

Clarke doesn’t mean to watch them so carefully, but there’s really not that much to do. School hasn’t started yet and she doesn’t need a job since Marcus is sending her a weekly allowance, so she hasn’t had a chance to meet anyone local. Wells is only good for a weekly phone call and some scattered texts since he’s got an internship at his mom’s law firm. She doesn’t have anyone, yet, except for them. 

But it really is an accident when she starts watching them at night.

Clarke’s bedroom is directly across the hall from the master, and her door doesn’t shut all the way. Uncle Bellamy keeps saying he’ll fix it, but he’s been so busy getting ready for the school year to start he hasn’t gotten to it yet. Which is fine, most of the time. She stands behind the door to change, puts her desk chair in front of the door when she really wants some privacy, but Aunt Echo asked her not to do that at night, in case of an emergency.

And they aren’t really used to having someone else in the house, so half the time, _they_ forget to shut their bedroom door, and the way Clarke’s bed is situated, she can see half of their bedroom, and most of the bed, when both doors are open. The first week Clarke’s there, she goes to bed super early, tries to give them some time to themselves. But then Aunt Echo leaves for an overnight trip, and Bellamy figures out that she’s not normally asleep by nine-thirty, so she can’t really keep doing that. 

So the next night, when Aunt Echo gets back, Clarke’s still awake when they start. 

The first few times, she just puts her noise-canceling headphones in and rolls away. She really does try to ignore them.

But she’s desperately curious about what they’re like together, when no one’s watching, when they’re truly being intimate. 

Something bangs across the hall, jerks Clarke out of her drowsy state, and she freezes, almost too afraid to breathe.

“Fuck, Bellamy,” Aunt Echo whines. “You’re going to wake her up.”

They’re standing just inside the doorway, just visible in the glow of the security light outside. Bellamy has Echo backed into the wall, mouth fastened to her throat, one huge hand up her shirt. “You’ll have to be quiet for me then, won’t you, babe?” he says into her neck, before dropping to his knees and tugging down her sweatpants.

He spends an amazing length of time between her legs, one thrown over his shoulder, one hand tangled in his hair, the other over her mouth. Aunt Echo can’t stay too quiet, though, letting out whimpers and gasps and groans. It’s nothing like any porn she’s seen. Bellamy eats his wife out like he’s starving for her, _ravenous_, unwilling to do something as elegant as flick his tongue against her. 

Clarke’s never been so wet before in her life, desperate to slip her hands into her cotton shorts, but she’s terrified to move an inch, afraid to give herself away, so she just squeezes her thighs together. Maybe they’ll go right to sleep, and she’ll get a chance to make herself come. It won’t take long.

But of course, they don’t. Clarke’s pretty sure Echo gets off twice before she finally pushes Bellamy away, choking back a strained laugh.

“Okay, stop, you’ve had your fun,” she says, voice low. 

Bellamy looks up at her, face slick, a wide grin on his face that Clarke hasn’t seen since their wedding. “Not enough fun for me.”

Echo pulls him up for a kiss, and when she pushes him toward the bed, he goes, kicking his jeans back before he settles on his back. She climbs onto him, sinks down onto him, and they both let out sharp moans.

She pulls off just enough for Clarke to see Uncle Bellamy’s cock, shining and wet, before she’s off, bouncing away, chasing after more pleasure. Bellamy’s whispering to her, too quiet for Clarke to hear, hands tight on her hips. Aunt Echo can’t bite back her groan when she comes again, and Clarke can just make out Bellamy’s soft “Good girl,” before he rolls her onto her back so he can fuck harder into her, bed creaking beneath them. 

After, when they take turns in the bathroom, Clarke does her best to look asleep, eyes gently shut, head tilted into her shoulder the way she often wakes up. Uncle Bellamy peeks into her room and doesn’t anything, just gets into bed and curls around his wife.

Clarke falls asleep waiting for them, hoping she’ll get a chance to relieve the ache between her thighs, but in the morning, after Echo leaves for work and Bellamy’s out running errands, she creeps into their bedroom, lays back on Echo’s side of the bed, and slips her hand into her shorts, thinks about the night before and the nights to come.

They never seem to fuck the same way twice. The next night, it's slow and deep, lying on their sides, Uncle Bellamy thrusting slowly from behind, hidden under the sheets, but Clarke can imagine what they look like, Echo spread open for him, his hands roaming her body. Clarke imagines that it’s one of Uncle Bellamy’s favorite things, because another night, he’s sitting back against the headboard, Echo kneeling over his lap, rocking slowly, keeping him deep inside, Bellamy’s hands moving just as slowly over her from her throat down to her chest and over her thighs. His hands are always so warm, it must feel wonderful; Clarke watches them with one hand copying his over her own body, but her fingers are cold and she doesn’t want to move too much, doesn’t want them to see and realize she’s watching and _stop_.

Then they don't manage to make it up the stairs at all, but Echo seems to assume that Clarke won't be able to hear them because she’s so loud, and Uncle Bellamy doesn’t keep his voice down while he’s telling her just what to do, how to suck his cock, how he wants her spread out for him, how good she’s making him feel. And since they’re downstairs, Clarke’s able to kick the sheets and her shorts off for once, have full range of motion for her hands between her legs, two fingers inside and one hard on her clit, and she’s able to come twice before they’re finished, manages to get settled again before they come upstairs.

Next, he bends her over their bed and fucks into her from behind, and Clarke watches the muscles of his legs and ass tensing and flexing, sees Echo’s tight grip on the sheets. They start showing each other more affection when Clarke’s around, too: her legs thrown across his leg when they’re on the couch, occasional pecks to the cheek or forehead or neck.

Even when Aunt Echo leaves on her next trip, for three days this time, a couple of weeks before school starts, there’s still Uncle Bellamy to watch, fisting his cock in one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other, the screen lighting up his face so Clarke can see his tense expression, the release when he spills onto his stomach. 

Sometimes they do remember to shut their door, and those are the worst nights, even though Clarke doesn’t have to worry about getting caught touching herself. It’s incredible they haven’t noticed her still awake, really, but it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Clarke, even with the knot of guilt in her stomach that it’s only because her mom’s in such bad shape that she’s here at all, and it’s her _aunt and uncle_, halfs and steps and in-law or not. She really shouldn’t be invading their privacy like this, especially on top of invading their home and ruining their lives, just a little bit. 

But no matter what, Clarke can’t stop watching.


	2. Exhibitionism (Becho, Echo POV)

It’s still August, but one of those days that feels like fall is finally on its way, not cool, but dry, and it drops below seventy-five when the sun sets.

Perfect night for the hot tub.

Clarke begs off, cites some silly tv show she wants to watch without Bellamy’s commentary, but that’s fine with Echo. They can still have plenty of fun without her.

She puts on the red string bikini she bought last winter for their trip to Kaua’i with Octavia and Lincoln, and when she walks out onto the deck, Bellamy gives a low whistle.

“Pulling out all the stops, huh babe?” he says, smiling all crooked the way that still makes her heart leap, even after thirteen years together.

Echo does a little shimmy, lets her hips sway, enjoys the slow track of her husband’s eyes up her body. “Always do.”

She’d caught Clarke in the hallway upstairs on her way out, and her niece’s blushing and inability to look away had been just as satisfying as the way Bellamy’s still looking at her now. Clarke had stammered out an apology, couldn’t quite make eye contact, but her eyes kept returning to Echo’s legs and still toned stomach and the lacy triangle cups of her bikini top. Echo loves how they’re nothing alike: Clarke is soft, and sweet, and ripe for the plucking. There’s no way she’s innocent, not after the last couple of weeks, but there’s something untouchable about her, a naivety that needs to be shattered. Echo let her hand rest on Clarke’s shoulder while she accepted the apology, thumb just brushing up against her pale smooth neck so she could feel Clarke’s pulse jumping, and, quick as she could without seeming rude, Clarke retreated back into her room.

A room which, conveniently for Echo, looks out over the back deck.

Echo steps into the hot tub next to Bellamy and settles in against his side. He’s changed more over the years than she has, a little softer and more solid than he used to be, but she loves the warm bulk of him, loves the way he fills a room. Bellamy gets frustrated sometimes, but Echo’s pretty good at reassuring him, and the way Clarke looks at him doesn’t hurt either.

“She’s in her room,” Echo murmurs into his ear, catching the lobe between her teeth. “Couldn’t stop looking at me.”

His hand lands on her knee, slips up her thigh to play with the ties at her hip. “Course not, you’re so fucking sexy in this,” he says, other arm going around her shoulder to pull her closer. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Echo glances up at the house, sees the fluttering of the white curtain in Clarke’s window. The window’s closed, so they don’t need to worry about Clarke being able to hear. “I think she’s watching.”

“Yeah? Wanna give her a show?” Bellamy tugs her onto his lap, waits for her to get her legs adjusted on either side before he pulls her in for a slow deep kiss, hands coming up to cup the back of her head.

They spend a few long minutes just kissing, taking the chance to just enjoy each other, but it’s not long before Echo’s grinding hard against Bellamy’s dick. Bellamy moves his mouth to her neck, sucking hard but careful to avoid marks, and between kisses, he asks, “She still there?”

It’s easy enough to throw her head back, eyes half-shut, while he nips at her throat. “Fuck, yes.” Clarke’s grown bolder, in the couple of weeks she’s been watching them. She pulls away from the window when it seems like Echo might be able to see her, but when neither of them reacts, Clarke moves back, half-hidden by the gauzy fabric. 

Bellamy’s dick jumps at the confirmation. It won’t be long before Clarke is ready for the next step in their long-considered plan, and Bellamy gets to go first. “What do you want, babe? What do you think she wants to see?”

“My tits,” Echo says, and Bellamy obediently unties her top, tosses it to the side, then bends down to pull one hard nipple into his mouth. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

Clarke’s breasts are so much bigger than hers. Bellamy’s hands will look so good holding them. She’s so tiny, Echo can’t wait to see Clarke in her husband’s arms or laid out beneath him. 

“Want you to make me come. Let me ride your fingers,” Echo gasps out, whimpering at the feel of his teeth. “Then you can bend me over the side and fuck me, okay?”

When Echo comes, she almost gives them away, almost looks at Clarke without realizing, but Bellamy’s watching out for her like he always is, pulls her close to him so she can hide her face against his neck. “She’s licking her lips,” he tells her, rubbing circles against her bare back. “I don’t blame her. You look so damn good when you come.”

Echo lets out a slow shaky laugh as she recovers. “I bet Clarke will too.”

Bellamy grabs a cushion from a nearby lounge chair, gives Echo somewhere soft to rest her elbows while he bends her over and fucks her as promised. “She’s gonna look so pretty, yeah, like she always does. Gonna fuck you just like this and let her see us up close. Maybe she’ll let you eat her out while I fuck you.” Echo buries a whine against her forearm, imagines having Clarke spread out in front of her, ready and willing, instead of all the way upstairs, thinking all she’ll get to do is watch. “You’re gonna make her feel so good, let her use that perfect mouth of yours. Fuck.” He lets out a sharp groan as he fills her cunt. Clarke has really done a number on his stamina. 

They’ll work on that. They’ve got time. 

Bellamy pulls his trunks back up, skin prickling in the cool night air, but Echo doesn’t bother putting her bikini back on, just wraps a towel loosely around her chest. “I’m gonna talk to her tomorrow,” she says, and Bellamy’s eyes go dark and hot. “Before I leave. You can have her soon.”


	3. Masturbation (Bellarke, Clarke POV)

Aunt Echo asks Clarke to help her pack as some sort of aunt-niece bonding ritual. Clarke would never be able to start packing so soon before she left, but Echo must be used to it by now, with another trip almost every week. Five minutes after her parents told her she’d be staying with Uncle Bellamy, Clarke started a packing spreadsheet, and she had her bags ready to go two days early. But Echo’s going to be back the day after tomorrow, so it’s not like she needs much. 

There isn’t anything for Clarke to do, really, just sit around and fetch things. Uncle Bellamy went to gas up his car, and it’s the first time Clarke’s really been alone with Echo.

It’s fine. Clarke needs to get used to it.

“You’ll keep Bellamy company while I’m gone, won’t you?” Aunt Echo says, casual, but Echo-casual, like there’s no question of Clarke complying.

“Yeah, sure,” Clarke agrees, automatic, before the words have quite registered. Her brain catches up pretty quickly. “Sorry, what?”

“He gets lonely when I’m gone. He used to be better at, well." She pauses, searching for the right words. “At finding _company_ for himself.” 

“I don’t know-“

“Yes, you do.” Echo reaches out to grasp Clarke’s elbow, firm. “It’s up to you. I know he’d like it, and I don’t mind. I’ll be busy enough.”

Clarke licks her lips, looking up at Aunt Echo. She’s a few inches taller than Clarke is, thin and toned in a way Clarke will never be, and there’s nowhere safe for Clarke to look. 

“Look,” Aunt Echo says, voice losing its edge, thumb caressing Clarke’s arm. “Bellamy wants you. He’s too good to do anything about it, but I know he does.”

Clarke can’t quite process it; she knows what each individual word means, but there’s no way Aunt Echo actually means it.

“He’s always liked pretty girls,” she continues, gently tugging at a loose blonde curl. “And you’re very pretty, aren’t you? It’s not like you’re really our niece. I don’t mind that you want him, too.”

She feels like she should correct Aunt Echo somehow, explain that she doesn’t _just_ want Bellamy, that every time she looks at them together she feels an odd, twisted tangle of guilt and need and yearning. But she doesn’t know how to even begin. “I don’t— what?”

Echo sighs, looking down at Clarke like she didn’t think she’d need to explain it so thoroughly. But it _doesn’t make sense._ “Honey, I know you’ve been watching us.”

Clarke tries to step back, but Aunt Echo holds tight. She shakes her head, stammers out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay.” Echo tilts Clarke’s face up, thumb pressing into the dimple in her chin. Uncle Bellamy has one too, and Clarke remembers, the first time Marcus brought his siblings over to meet her and Mom, that she’d liked the Blakes immediately because of their matching chins. “I wanted you to see.”

Finally, Clarke finds some words. “I don’t understand.”

Echo opens her mouth, but before she can say anything more, the door slams shut downstairs. “You ready, babe?” Bellamy calls out.

After zipping up her suitcase and grabbing her purse, Echo turns to Clarke, looks her over. Clarke’s afraid to guess what she sees: a child, a rival? She doesn’t know Echo well enough yet to guess.

“Think about it.”

* * *

Clarke spends the rest of the day in a fog. She tries to read, but her eyes won’t focus on the page properly, so she curls up on the couch, under a blanket even though it’s almost ninety degrees outside and Uncle Bellamy doesn’t like the A/C on too high, turns on the tv so he won’t ask questions.

He returns from the airport with takeout for lunch, sits down in his usual spot. There’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in the way he’s treating her, which must mean that Aunt Echo didn’t tell him what she said to Clarke, because if he knew, surely he’d be disgusted with her, wouldn’t be able to look at her so kindly, or give her the extra egg roll he ordered out of habit.

Everything’s exactly the same as it’s been the last few weeks, until late that night, an hour after Clarke got in bed, and ten minutes after Uncle Bellamy got out of the shower. He made the walk from the bathroom to his room in just boxers, instead of the usual gym shorts and t-shirt, and when he lays back in his bed, pulls his cock out and starts touching himself, he doesn’t call his wife’s name.

Instead he groans out, soft but crystal clear: _“Clarke.”_

She can’t help herself. She slips her hand into her underwear, finds herself dripping, so wet that rubbing her clit doesn’t give her enough friction, so she slides three fingers inside, presses her palm against her clit, and watches the steady pull of Uncle Bellamy’s hand. If Aunt Echo was telling the truth, that she really doesn’t mind that her _husband_ wants her, that she’s willing for them to have each other—

Clarke will need to know how to make him feel good.

He finishes before she does, just by a few seconds. The sight of his cock jerking in his hand and the way her name sounds on his lips sends her over the edge, and she almost starts crying, it’s such a strain to stay silent.

Uncle Bellamy goes back into the bathroom to clean up, and Clarke can just make out the thick white stripes painted across his stomach and chest. The running sink is just loud enough to cover the sound of Clarke tugging a couple of tissues out of the box and wiping herself dry. 

She’s tucked back in by the time he heads back to his room, curled up on her side, so still, she’s barely breathing.

He pauses for a long moment outside her door. 

“Goodnight, Clarke.”


	4. Seduction (Bellarke, Clarke POV)

The next day is just like any other day with Aunt Echo gone, except Clarke is exhausted and on edge and unable to quite make eye contact with Uncle Bellamy. He mostly leaves her alone, as usual, spends most of the day in his office with the door shut. Clarke barely leaves her room, except to grab a sandwich for lunch.

At four o’clock, Uncle Bellamy knocks on the door frame. “Come on, get dressed. I want to go out for dinner tonight.”

Clarke nods, unable to do anything else.

“Wear something pretty.” He enters her room, walks around her bed to the closet, digs through it for a minute. “Here, you’ll look good in this.” It’s just a coral sundress, one she hasn’t worn much recently because the straps got too lose and the neckline hangs a little too low, but still, she nods. He lays the dress across the foot of the bed and leans over to cup her cheek his hand. His fingers are warm and calloused. She shivers anyway. “You’ll make yourself pretty for me, won’t you, baby?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, sure, like Aunt Echo was, of her compliance. 

Clarke showers, quick as she can. Uncle Bellamy showered right here this morning, called out her name instead of his wife’s. Her chest aches with the guilt, even though she’s sure she hasn’t _really_ done anything wrong. Even watching might not be wrong if Aunt Echo wants her to. She shaves, even though she just shaved three days ago and usually she only bothers once a week, has to borrow Aunt Echo’s body wash, something expensive that smells like winter, since hers ran out yesterday and she hasn’t had the courage to borrow the car or ask Uncle Bellamy to take her shopping yet.

She uses her own floral lotion all over, braids her hair, not sure she has the time to blow-dry it, and puts on the dress Uncle Bellamy picked out. Halfway through putting a bit of makeup on— just some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss— she realizes that this is the exact same routine from when she was dating Lexa last fall. 

But he told her to be pretty. Just like Aunt Echo said he liked. 

When she goes downstairs, purse hanging from her elbow, ready to go except for her white wedges sitting next to the door, Uncle Bellamy’s waiting for her. He looks her over, and when he nods, she can’t help but smile back. “Beautiful.”

He dressed up too, in dark jeans and a gray button-up shirt, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. They’re a complementary pair, not a matched set, but that seems right. She still feels pretty next to him, dainty and delicate. 

Clarke sits next to him in the car for the first time, and the whole drive to the restaurant, his hand rests on her knee. He insists on a corner booth at the restaurant, tucks her under his arm, orders for her and watches her with dark, hungry eyes as she savors her food. 

After, Uncle Bellamy takes her to the big park downtown, where there's a live band. He came prepared: thick soft blanket to sit on, a bottle of sparkling grape juice and two stemless wine glasses, a jar of chocolate mousse and marshmallow fluff with graham crackers to dip in. They find a tree to sit back against, leaves hanging almost low enough to shield them from view, and with the setting sun and sparse crowd, there's no one paying very much attention to them. Uncle Bellamy pulls her down to sit with her back against his broad chest, and somehow, even with all of the confusion and guilt, she still feels safe and warm. Protected. 

She can hardly manage to listen at all, not with his fingers trailing up and down her bare arms, mouth pressed close to her ear so he can murmur to her, how pretty she looks. When her fingers get sticky, he licks them clean. 

Clarke doesn't know how to stop it. Her mom told her to be good for them, but this can't be what she meant. 

She helps pack everything away again, when the music has ended and the rest of the crowd has dispersed, and when Clarke looks up at her uncle, there’s a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. She doesn’t think. It only occurs to her after she’s done it how wrong it is to do it at all, no matter how natural it feels.

In her shoes, with almost three inches of heel, she’s only a couple of inches shorter than Uncle Bellamy. She barely has to rise up at all, one hand resting lightly on his chest, to carefully lick away the chocolate.

Uncle Bellamy’s hand comes up to her waist, presses her into him, and if her head were angled just slightly toward his mouth, their lips would have met. 

She almost expects him to kiss her. It feels like she should be kissed, after the evening they’ve had, dinner and music and curling up together, looking like a happy couple, acting like they’re in love. 

He doesn’t, and it makes her heart ache.

Maybe Clarke’s wrong, and Aunt Echo’s wrong, and he doesn’t want her.

Instead, he presses a kiss to her forehead, soft and sweet and inadequate. “Thank you, Clarke.”

This time, on their drive home, he doesn’t touch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a busy week ahead of me, so updates are likely to be sporadic.


	5. Handjobs (Bellarke, Bellamy POV)

It’s late when they get back; not quite bedtime, but Bellamy plans on keeping Clarke up a little later still. She’s quiet, walking into the house, his hand guiding her up the front walk. He brushes her ass when he lets it fall, lightly enough that she’ll wonder if he really touched her there, if he did it on purpose.

If he’ll do it again.

He sends her upstairs to get ready for bed, and she goes, obedient as always. Bellamy didn’t expect Clarke to grow up so docile; from what Marcus has told him, she isn’t always, but it’s only been a few weeks, and she hasn’t totally settled in yet. Maybe she’ll get some spark back. Bellamy can’t decide which he’d prefer.

His phone vibrates in his back pocket. It’s gone off a few times this evening, the custom pattern Echo set up the first time she went on a business trip after they got married, but his focus was on Clarke like they agreed. She won’t mind that he’s only checking now.

**Mrs. Blake:** _Don’t have too much fun without me babe, you know the rules_  
_Is she as pretty as you wanted her to be?_  
_Do you think her cunt’s prettier than mine? You’re not allowed to look yet._  
_Or touch.  
_ _Enjoy her while you can. She’s mine tomorrow._

Bellamy responds with a brief _I’ll be good_, even though he won’t be, and hasn’t been. Echo knows he’ll push the rules as far as he can, twist them and bend them and earn his forgiveness later. He adds _Say hi to Roan for me_, just to annoy her a little. They both know he can’t stand Echo’s partner, but he doesn’t need to like him to be willing to share.

He goes into the living room, pours himself a couple fingers of whisky, listens to Clarke moving around upstairs. She makes so little noise, unwilling to take up too much space in their lives. What was it like for her, the past year, watching her mom fall apart, being left to fend for herself?

It’s a good thing he and Echo are here to take care of her now.

He listens for the telltale squeak of Clarke’s mattress, gulps back the last of his drink, and goes upstairs to get ready for bed. When he’s done, he goes into Clarke’s room. She’s curled up on the far side of her bed, back almost against the wall, pretty little face peeking out of her blankets, eyes wide on him. 

Bellamy sits on the edge of her bed, brushes a curl out of her eyes. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

Clarke nods, gives him a shy smile.

“Good. I did too.” He pulls the blankets down, settles himself down beside her. It’s only a full-size bed, but she’s a tiny little thing. He can take up all the space he wants. “You don’t mind if I stay with you tonight, do you? Gets lonely without Echo, and she said you’d keep me company.”

“If—” she says, breaking eye contact, hands searching for the blankets draped across their hips. “If that’s what you want.”

Bellamy doesn’t let her cover herself. He wants to look at her, body hidden from him by nothing more than a thin cotton shirt, one of the dozens of Jake’s that she’s been sleeping in since he died. “Of course I do, baby. You think I don’t want you?”

Clarke’s eyes go wide, like she didn’t expect him to actually say it. “But what about Aunt Echo?”

“She doesn’t mind.” Clarke doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “Just like I don’t mind that she’s with someone else tonight.” 

She looks like she has a dozen more questions about _that_, but he cuts her off. “You like watching, don’t you baby? Thought you might like to have a better view tonight.”

Bellamy’s been hard since he read Echo’s texts, and Clarke has been careful not to let her eyes stray from his face, when she looks at him at all, but now her eyes follow the movement of his hand as he palms his dick. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. 

She watches him, eyes hungry, while he shoves his boxers down and lets his dick spring up against his soft stomach. It doesn’t look as impressive as it used to when he was less heavy, but he doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of as far as dick size is concerned. 

Before Clarke moved in, Bellamy made sure the room would be stocked with what she might need and what he would want. She didn’t move anything, of course, just found gaps to fill with the few things she brought with her. He doesn’t bother grabbing the lotion from the nightstand. He hopes she’ll be using it instead.

He starts off slow, showing off a little, dragging the foreskin on and off the head, reaching down to roll his balls, not bothering to choke back the groans and sighs. 

Like the good girl she is, Clarke studies each jerk of his hand, and it makes each touch more intense. It’s going to be so easy to teach her how they like to fuck. She’ll be the sweetest little plaything they’ve ever had, and this time, they’ll be able to keep her. 

“Uncle Bellamy? Can I ask you something?”

His hand jerks when she says his name, soft and needy, but he keeps his hand moving slow. He has to last tonight, as long as Clarke wants him to. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

“Aunt Echo really said we can, you know. That it’s okay that we want each other?”

“It was her idea.”

She considers that for a moment, eyes still glued to his hand. “And is it okay if I want her too? She’s just— I can’t help it.”

Echo had known for years that Clarke would be a perfect baby girl for him, since their last big vacation together five years ago when Clarke had just started blooming, but even in the last few weeks they haven’t been quite sure if Clarke would want them both, if the stolen glances meant desire or jealousy. Echo would have taken her either way, but this is better. She’ll be thrilled.

“Oh, that’s perfect, baby. Just what I was hoping for.”

She sighs, relieved, settles in to watch him, now that she doesn’t need to worry so much. 

Bellamy keeps his pace slow, though, doesn’t dare get himself too close to the peak. He wants more than his own hand tonight. 

And as he’d hoped, Clarke gets impatient. “Does it feel really feel that good? It’s just,” she says, brow scrunching up, making her look even younger, petulant in a way that makes Bellamy think she’ll get bratty soon, “Everyone says it’s not as good as, um, other things.”

He considers, looking down at his dick, swiping his thumb over the tip to spread the pre-come around the head, before looking her over again. She’s got a perfect little body, soft and slender and ripe. “It can be very good,” he says. “Just because other things are better doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel fucking amazing.” He lets his hand go faster, just a bit, enough to get his heart going, make his breath catch in his throat. “Feels even better when someone else does it.”

It’s not subtle, and if Clarke was more than sixteen she’d have realized it. But she says, slow, like she’s connected incidental dots and arrived at the conclusion all on her own, “Can I try, Uncle Bellamy?”

He manages to keep from grinning, and pulls his hand away, crossing his arms behind his head, letting his shirt pull up a little. “Course you can, baby.”

Clarke’s hand is smaller than Echo’s, softer, free of the callouses and scars earned over almost four decades. She doesn’t know what she’s doing at all, just copies Bellamy’s motions from before: one fist jerking slowly, thumb on the head. It’s so fucking good, her innocence. There’s no way she’s done this before, let alone anything more intimate. Abby was a strict mom before she was an addict; Marcus never mentioned Clarke having many friends, and the Jaha kid doesn’t seem the type to play doctor.

Maybe she’s been kissed, maybe some scummy teen got his hands on those perfect tits, but Echo’s going to be the one to teach her what pleasure is. Bellamy’s going to teach her how incredible fucking can be. 

She’ll be theirs.

“Here, baby,” he says, once she’s done exploring. Bellamy grabs the lotion off the nightstand. It’s not ideal, but leaving lube in here seemed too risky. He’ll need to make sure he stashes some condoms for tomorrow, just in case they end up back in Clarke’s bed. 

Clarke’s heard enough to know what to do with the lotion, at least. She gets her hand slick and gets back to work, resting her other hand on his thigh to keep steady. 

“Faster, baby. Little tighter.” He reaches down to play with his balls, just for a moment, and as soon as his hand is gone Clarke’s is there to take its place, sending shockwaves through him, making each hesitant tug feel so much more intense.

It won’t take him long, not with the way she’s staring at his dick, all determination and focus. “Just like that, yeah.”

When he comes, Clarke giggles a little, shocked, and Bellamy has to cover her hand with his again to work his dick through each pulse. There are still tricks he can’t wait for Echo to teach her, but for her first time, Clarke was perfect. He hands her the box of tissues, lets her wipe her hands clean. Most of his jizz landed on his shirt, so he just tosses it on the ground and pulls his boxers back up over his softening dick. 

Bellamy shuts off the light, tugs Clarke down to lay across his chest. She twists a little to keep her thighs pressed together, whimpers a little. Poor thing, she must be turned on. 

But she’s not allowed to come until tomorrow, and Bellamy broke enough rules tonight. It’s not worth the risk of Echo changing their plans, or whatever other punishment she might think of.

“So,” he says, pressing a kiss against her hair, savoring the feel of her little body. “Better than just watching?”

“Uh-huh. Can I do it again tomorrow?”

“You’ll have to ask your aunt.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [on tumblr.](http://www.catja.tumblr.com)


End file.
